


Crossroads

by Severina



Category: Dark Harbor (1998)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David cruises by the corner every few weeks, his palms sweaty on the steering wheel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-movie. Written for LJ's hc_bingo for the prompt "undeserved reputation"
> 
> * * *

David cruises by the corner every few weeks, his palms sweaty on the steering wheel. 

Sometimes the boy is there, leaning against the low brick wall, smoking. Disgusting habit, but David finds himself fascinated by the way the boy's lips wrap around the filter, by the curl of smoke climbing into the night air. He idles at the stop sign across the street until the car behind him honks impatiently and then he startles to life, revs the engine and peels away and watches the boy's head lift at the sound, watches him in the rear-view mirror until he is nothing but a speck in the dark.

It takes him two months to get up the courage to park the car. And even then he crosses the street and then loses his nerve, diverts into a dingy used book store and buys a tattered Italian cookbook and has to spend the next month pretending he wanted to try some classic versions of pasta primavera while Alexis lounges at the table and flicks leisurely through a magazine while he cooks.

The second time, he forces himself to walk to the corner, sticks his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and stares blankly at the display in the window of a novelty store. He can sense the boys eyes on him, all of them sizing him up, very likely finding him wanting. David has no illusions about his own attractiveness, but he has charm and he has a sizable bank balance and he knows which of those matters the most in this scenario.

He darts a quick look at the young man – his young man – before turning his attention again to the dusty wind-up monkeys and sock puppets in the window. 

"I've seen you here before," the boy says.

He's got a slow, easy drawl, more soft-spoken than David imagined. It's the kind of drawl that pulls you in, makes you do things that you've only been dreaming about in the dark of long nights. He glances up, almost dares to meet the boy's eyes. "No… uh… just passing by, you know," he denies quickly.

"Uh huh," the young man says. He pushes off from the wall, saunters over like he doesn't have a care in the world. He takes his time lighting a cigarette, tips his head back to draw the smoke into his lungs. His leather jacket is open to the elements, but when he stands close enough that their arms brush David can feel the heat radiating from the boy even through his expensive topcoat. Though he tries to stay calm he can feel his pulse thrumming in his skin.

"See anything you like?" the young man asks.

David starts, the surprise at the blatant question making him meet the boy's clear, blue eyes. The corner of the boy's lips upturn in a small, sardonic smile as he juts his chin at the display case.

"Oh," David murmurs, hopes that the young man will chalk up the heat rising in his cheeks to the chill autumn wind. He shakes his head, glances back at the display case. "No. I'm not much for Russian stacking dolls and dusty board games."

The boy presses his lips together, nods. "Games are fun, sometimes," he says. He leans his ass against the window ledge, shakes his hair back out of his eyes. "Cold night."

David swallows dryly, tries to calm his racing heart. He's imagined how it would go, lying awake with Alexis warm and ignorant beside him and images of this young man haunting his thoughts. It always started something like this. "We could go somewhere," he suggests haltingly. "Get out of this wind." When the boy side-glances him, he adds hastily, "I have money."

The boy shakes his head, one corner of his mouth again upturning. It's oddly endearing, that half-smile. "I'm not a whore," he says.

David jerks back. "No, of course… I didn't mean…"

"Relax," the young man says. He lifts one shoulder, takes a drag on his cigarette and speaks through the haze of smoke. "It's not like I'm offended. Gotta make money somehow. There's worse things a person can do to make ends meet."

"Yes," David says. He remembers his courtship of Alexis, sitting through endless afternoons on stiff-backed antique sofas while Alexis chattered her way through another bottle of wine and her harridan of a mother shot him dirty looks across the divan. Gritting his way through the ostentatious wedding and the interminable European honeymoon and the endless nights of her working above him while he tried desperately, frantically to get off. "Yes, there are," he agrees quietly.

The young man finishes his cigarette, pushes off from the window before tossing it on the ground and crushing it out with his boot. "Well," he says, "nice talking to ya."

David has always read about crossroads, though he's never found himself at one before. Not like this. In the time that it takes for the boy to step away from the window, he sees the rest of his life played out behind his eyes: the safe path, the boring loveless marriage, the unhappiness, the festering anger, all of it like a grey cloud hanging over him until he dies alone and miserable. 

And then there is this path. Terrifying in its unfamiliarity, but one that he has been hurtling toward ever since he first saw the young man so many months ago. 

"We could go for coffee," he calls out before he can change his mind. 

The boy stops and turns, hands in the pockets of his jeans. The wind lifts his long hair, drags the leather jacket away from his lean, fit body. He is stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful, and David nearly loses his nerve at the sight of him. 

"I really would like to get out of this wind," David says. He winces at the desperate note in his voice, at the pleading tone, but can't seem to stop talking. He manages a wan smile. "My treat." 

The young man hesitates for a long moment before inclining his head. "Coffee sounds good," he says.

David nods, relief flooding his body, making his knees feel weak. He hurries to catch up with the boy, turns them toward the run-down diner a few blocks away.

They fall into step with each other on the path.


End file.
